He said, "My ship at anchor rides I only wait the evening tides, Before them, with her face upraised, Like one half-curious, half-amazed, Her eyes were, like a falcon's, gray, And on her lips there played a smile "The soil is barren -the farm is old;" His heart within him was at strife For he knew whose passions gave her life, But the voice of nature was too weak, Then pale as death grew the maiden's cheek, The Slaver led her from the door, To be his slave and paramour THE WARNING. BEWARE! The Israelite of old, who tore The lion in his path-when, poor and blind, He saw the blessed light of heaven no more, Shorn of his noble strength, and forced to grind In prison, and at last led forth to be Upon the pillars of the temple laid His desperate hands, and in its overthrow Destroyed himself, and with him those who made A cruel mockery of his sightless woe; The poor, blind Slave, the scoff and jest of all, Expired, and thousands perished in the fall! There is a poor, blind Samson in this land, Shorn of his strength, and bound in bonds of steel, |